


Feel Your Pulse in the Pages

by NarryEm



Series: One Real Thing You've Ever Known [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Multi, Psychological Drama, Rimming, Smut, Story within a Story, blowjob, killer Niall, the whole story is fucked up in more ways than one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/NarryEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a writer, a fairy tale writer except that he puts a dark twist on the classical tales that have been told for ages. The protagonists, or the anti-heroes really, who are supposed to be innocent and pure are cunning and maniacal in his versions of the stories.</p><p>His main character has the same name as in the original tales, but he gives them all a general description: blond, blue-eyed, and with a killer smile that could outshine the sun.</p><p>Harry has next expected to meet someone like his character, or more precisely, someone who is <i>exactly </i>from his stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Your Pulse in the Pages

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Poet" by Bastille.
> 
> Not really sure where the idea came from. It's kind of like Mo from the _Inkheart_ series with the book character coming to life and all. But this doesn't follow the plot of the books whatsoever so yeah.
> 
> If you were enticed by the promise of yummy explicit sex and other stuff, please read on through the first little bit. I wanted to write a proper short story with actual plot for once. And trust me, the plot to porn ration isn't half-bad in this one ;)

_The prince walks amongst the roses, a crooked smile on his lips. The smile doesn't reach his cold, blue eyes, however. The smile is calculated and emotionless. A show of fleeting amusement, perhaps, but nothing more._

_He lifts his hand and places it over the rose bush, a beauty in the sunlight with its vibrant blood red roses and lush green leaves. At the flick of his wrist, they begin to shake, the leaves quickly dehydrating as the water floats above them and the petals lose their red, the colour bleeding out from them to gather above, travelling up the Prince's arms and then racing to his lips. The moment they touch them, his lips turn even rosier and fuller, and his complexion has that youthful glow again._

_From afar, his step-mother, the Queen, watches. She has been aware of her step-son's magical abilities for a long time, as she is a practitioner of the ancient arts herself. However, his powers scare him, and how he manipulates them. He uses his powers for vain and selfish reasons, leaching the beauty from his surroundings, as if he weren't beautiful on his own with the bluest eyes, rosy lips, and soft blond hair. She knows that the Dark arts can be a friend for only a short time before they turn against him._

_So she takes the drastic measures and arranges for a huntsman to take him to the countryside where he can learn to use his powers for good from the other witches and warlocks. Only, the Prince doesn't take well to it. He kills the huntsman with his bare hands, or more specifically, by manipulating the blood within his veins and bidding it to leak out of his every orifice. Then, he manages to find shelter in a small shack where seven dwarfs live. He kills them as well, but not before absorbing all their life forces and strengthening himself. The bodies are burnt outside the shack, and he watches the fires burn high in to the sky and scorch any littler critters that come in too close._

_Of course, the Queen is no fool. She knows that something has happened when her hired man doesn't come back with the report of her son settling into a life at the countryside. And with a bit of magic of all own, she finds out that the prince as gained even more power somehow. She has no choice but to take matter into her hands and put a pause to his life, as drastic as it is._

_She disguises herself as a hideous old hag and offers the Prince some poisoned apples. As powerful as the young Prince may be, he is blinded by his arrogance. He eats the poisoned apple willingly and to her satisfaction, he collapses, lying motionless on the floor._

_The Queen isn't heartless. She puts him in a glass box and puts his sleeping body in a well-travelled area in the woods. She knows that on day, the Prince's one true love will come by and wake him with a kiss, and hopefully make him a better person._

_As always, her plans don't work out quite that way._

_When a handsome traveller with wildly curly hair and wide green eyes kisses him awake, Niall kills him without a remorse. Then, upon seeing his face, he regrets it and resurrects him by the means of darkest of magic. He makes him his slave, in a sense, and order for the resurrected man to go assassinate the Queen. The newly undead easily infiltrates the castle now that he is equipped with the ability to blend into the shadows. He finds the Queen's chambers easily, as instructed by his new master._

_He throws the Queen across the room, only her head doesn't end up cracking open on the walls as intended. She wills the air to cushion her impact and stands up. The assassin in front of her is no man, with his cold dead eyes and ashen skin. She can also detect the magic signature on him and it certainly belongs to her step-son. She doesn't stand a chance against the thing of dark magic, not when sharp animal teeth tear into her throat and bleed her dry . . . ._

Oh great, now Harry has gone and written himself as a bloodthirsty vampire. Well, it's not the first time that he has sneaked himself into one of his retelling of the classic fairy tales, and he is sure that his readers may have picked up on it.

Harry is a writer, someone who writes more violent, gorier, and usually preternatural versions of the stories that the kids read or watch when they are young. Only, his stories shouldn't be read by people that young, and his targeted audience are the teens anyway, with the implied sexual happenings and whatnot. He prefers not to write graphic sex scenes, especially not when he himself hasn't experienced it personally. (To be fair, he is only nineteen and he has been known as the dork in his hometown. And being in London hasn't got him anything more than hurried blowjobs in the pub toilets with shoddy lighting.)

He rubs over his temples, and when he glances down at his mobile, he sees that it's two in the morning and he's got an eight a.m. tomorrow. The writing thing is only to help pay for his university expenses, and since he only writes short stories, he doesn't get paid loads either. He's no Edgar Allen Poe . . . yet. So unless he gets his big break and ends up as the next E.L. James or summat, he's stuck going to lectures on sociology, history, and folkloric stuff.

The brunet saves his work and shuts the laptop. He plods over to his tiny bed before he strips down to nothing and then climbs into the too-solid bed. He pulls the covers over his bed and lets sleep over take him.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_The night has barely begun, and the Prince already knew that it was not going to end well. His ship has been thrown around by the waves for the better part of the night and they had already lost so much of the supplies and even a couple men. The Prince frowns as he tries to readjust the sail, which is practically useless with the violent gashes in the fabric. There is a particularly strong gust of the wind and before he knows it, the Prince is getting thrown off the ship._

_The Prince is a good swimmer, but in the relentless and deadly stormy setting, he can't. And since he is in the middle of the ocean and not close to his ship at all, he has a slim chance of survival._

_The seawater washes over him once again, and more of the burning liquid fills his lungs. He lets his eyes slip closed, the last thought being that of an impression that he can hear someone sing so beautifully in the midst of the raging storm._

_When he comes around, it's to the same singing voice that he had thought he heard before he conked out. It belongs to a man with hair the colour of sunlight, eyes bluer than the ocean, and skin so fair and glowing that he cannot be real. Or, so he though until he glances downward. The 'man' has a tail that should belong to a fish in the place of his legs. The bright blue scales nearly glitter in the sun, giving the blonde's tail a iridescent quality._

_"Me name's Niall," the exquisite creature says, smiling and the Prince can feel his heart flutter in a funny but not entirely unpleasant way. "I'm not supposed to talk to you after saving ya, but you really are pretty, so."_

_It is only then that the Prince realises that they are on the shore of some island. The beach he is on is sandy and soft, whilst at the other side of the very same island, the shores are rocky with jagged ends pointing out to the sea._

_"You are a vile creature of death, are you not? A Siren.' he inquires._

_"Ah, so not all o' ya humans aren't completely stupid then," he smirks. A golden glow surrounds Niall and the Prince is blinded by it for a moment or two. When his vision clears, he sees that Niall has moved closer to him, his tail having been replaced with a pair of slim and pale_ human  _legs._

_"G-get away from me," he stutters and Niall only laughs evilly, the sunlight glinting off his now-pointy teeth._

" _But I did save ya," Niall whispers, voice too low and husky not to be come across as anything other than downright seductive. "You should be repaying the favour."_

" _Sod off," the Prince says._

_"We shall do it the hard way, then," Niall says, sounding almost wistful as he pouts, a pristine picture of innocence. Before the Prince can retaliate or even prepare himself whatever might happen, Niall is on him and all over him. Niall's lips are soft and demanding as they pry the Prince's lips open and licks into his mouth, slotting their legs together. The Prince is flustered, and perhaps that is why he is letting this vile creature do this to him. Letting the Siren kiss him like he wants to devour him and rub their nether regions so that it sends spikes of sharp pleasure up his spine. And maybe the Prince wasn't too far off his assumptions because he can feel sharp teeth tearing into the soft flesh of his bottom lip._

_"What in hell!" the Prince yells as he jerks his head back._

_"I'm a Siren, and I do enjoy some blood and other things." Niall winks. He holds the back of the Prince's neck again, the grip almost gentle as though they were lovers not strangers. He attaches his lips to the Prince's once again and when they do, Niall coaxes the Prince's tongue out and then bites on it. It doesn't hurt too terribly, a mere sting before a rush of something else tingles its way down the Prince's body. He isn't losing much blood either, but Niall's nails are beginning to dig into the skin, and they no longer feel like normal human fingertips._

_Their lower bodies are entwined together, legs slotted perfectly so that every time Niall grinds his hips down, there is friction between his naked groin and the Prince's clothed one. A desperate whine claws its way out of the Prince's throat, borne of not-enough and too-much of everything that is happening---._

 

And in everything is shattered and broken in the blink of an eye and Harry finds himself awake and panting and sporting a raging hard-on in the middle of the bleeding night. He groans as he turns over, hips bucking into the mattress out of reflex. Okay, so he hadn't had sex dreams this vivid in like months and that had been when he'd had a boyfriend for like three weeks. He pouts as he glances down at his crotch, and yeah, his lower abdomen is already smeared with some of the semi-clear liquid and he feels desperate to get off. Sighing, he blindly searches for the lube stashed in his bedside stand and uncaps it one-handed. He doesn't hesitate before he slicks his fingers up and slides two inside of him at once, nearly purring with relief.

Harry likes to tease himself half the time, fingers dancing along his rim with feather-light caresses until the want and need to be filled with something, anything is too much that it drives him mental. The other half of the time, he will get on with it straight, fucking himself down onto his finger greedily and pushing all his buttons so that it's quick, dirty, and hard. He's opting for the second option, fingering himself with vigour as he pumps his prick with a slick hand, thumb swiping at the head of his dick and then the blunt nail teasing at his sensitive and beading slit. A moan tumbles out of his throat and fuck, it had been such a long time since he had gone out last, to drink and dance away (badly) all that pent-up testosterone and energy and general stress that comes with being a uni student. He comes within minutes, fingers still ramming into his prostate until it gets to be too much and hurts. Even then, he keeps a loose grip around his sore dick, and collects all his cum with his free hand to bring it up to his mouth, sucking off the bitter liquid. He cleans himself off with some tissues and snuggles back into the warm and cosy blankets.

He can't help but think about this Niall before the subconscious lulls over him once again. About his blue blue eyes and the cold heat that burned so bright in them. Like twin fire signs of promise and danger and adventure.

 

-

The next time he wakes is to the blaring sound of his Marimba-tone alarm and he nearly smashes the screen of his mobile as he blindly scrambles around to turn off the offending sound. He then hops into the shower and in another ten minutes, he is out of the door, running to the bus stop.

It's a typical Wednesday, which means that he gets to sit next to Zayn during the eight a.m. Art History as they doodle all over each other's notes, try to write something for forty minutes before he treks to the other side of the campus to attend the honours English and Its Origins lecture with Louis, and then run off straight to Folklore Through History and sit next to Liam for two hours. Then they'll go to the cafe across the uni campus and complain about their mundane lives until the afternoon classes.

Today is no different, well, almost. He forgets his bus pass so he ends up having to climb up six flights of stairs and then back down, misses the bus so he subsequently misses half of art history, discovers that he forgot his laptop at home so he can't do anything productive for the rest of the day, and has to endure Louis bemoaning his sickeningly not-very-subtle infatuation with Liam. ("But his, biceps, Haz! You could like lick every inch of it for hours and hours upon end whilst he flexing them as he fingers you with those thick, long fingers. And like rough me up!" Seriously, Harry knows entirely too much of Louis' sexual preferences and fantasies for it to be healthy between two best mates)

Lunch is a nice change of scenery and Zayn is snickering about the nudes that he had to draw right before lunch. He brags about how he could probably draw his girlfriend Perrie naked with his eyes closed and they all groan about it. The five of them had grown up together, pretty much, and it's pretty nauseating to think about Zayn and Perrie doing stuff. And same goes for Liam and Louis but then again, Liam is as oblivious as a brick wall when it comes to people's attraction towards him.

Harry orders a cuppa and the sandwich of the day, listening to everyone's conversation as he munches on his much needed lunch. Perrie is talking about some stupidly expensive purse that is a must-have or summat and Zayn is listening to her with that lovesick look and nodding along as though he understands the difference about taupe and warm grey or some shit. Liam is telling some terrible joke to Louis that not even Harry finds funny--which is saying something--but Louis laughs obnoxiously loud anyways, the corners of his eyes crinkling up and everything because he is that far gone.

He looks across the street, out of boredom more than anything really. Or, some of the more poetic people might say that it was Fate, that he was clandestinely meant to have looked in that one particular direction at the exact moment that  _he_  fucking  _materialised_  out of buggering nowhere. Like what the hell?

His confusion was short-lived as his brain began to take in the finer details of that boy's profile. His hair is a mix of blond and brown, eyes a piercing blue, so beautifully blue that Harry can notice it like twenty feet away, and he is of medium height and quite fair of skin.

 _He's 'Niall' from last night's dream_.

That person stood across the street is exactly what Harry's anti-heroes or villains look like, right down to the fine detail. As the mysterious blonde crosses the street and comes even closer to Harry, he can see that he has a few faint moles on his neck, a cleft chin, and the hint of a laughter line. And there is that cold gleam of amusement and determination as he walks straight towards Harry and his friends' table.

Perrie is the first to notice him, and leans in towards Zayn to stage-whisper, "Now that is a fine specimen of the male population right there. Whaddaya say, Zayn? Want me to go talk him into a hot threesome that no one shall ever forget?"

Zayn smirks, humouring her somewhat. "Maybe. Think he's a bottom? He looks like a total twink, and he would look so good spread around my cock."

The blond narrows his eyes, and sneers as he stops at their table: "As tempting as that is, I'll pass. Not really into boobs and shit, no offence, my lovely." He winks at Perrie.

Louis takes intrigue almost immediately, taking his eyes off of Liam for once, which is a rare feat. "And you are?"

"If I tell you now, where's the fun in that?" Niall asks, one corner of his mouth twitching up in something vaguely akin to a half-smirk.

"And besides," Niall--okay so maybe this could be a highly unlikely coincidence and this Irish stranger's name is definitely not Niall from his stories--continues on slyly, "I'm much more into green eyes and curls." The look that he sends in Harry's general direction is knowing and there is no way that any of them could have missed that flirty yet cold and dangerous glint in his blue eyes.

"Ehm," Harry mumbles like the intelligent arts major that he is. "Please at least tell us your name?"

The blonde laughs, his upper body dips forward until he is towering over Harry and whispers, "Niall." Harry shivers at the hot breaths tickling the outer shell of his ears, at the slight moist sensation and it takes all he has not to just--.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Niall straightens up and walks away.

 

-

 

Harry can't get Niall out of his mind. How is this possible? This is his real life, a life where he is swamped by assignments, deadlines, and the weekends that hardly make all of the above worthwhile.

It's possible.

But only Harry would know the exact details of the characters from his stories inside and out. And he can't even chalk up the meeting to some hallucination brought upon by stress since his friends saw Niall as well. Perrie pouted about Niall not agreeing to a threesome for like five minutes straight until Zayn whispered something in her ear and they went away giggling. Louis resumed his not so surreptitious pining on Liam and Liam continued to remain utterly and ridiculously oblivious to all of Louis' advances. And Harry knows for a fact that if all of them had been tripping, Louis would have gone a little bit psychotic, Liam a bit louder, and Perrie and Zayn insufferable for the lack of a better description.

So yeah, he was allowed to be currently going through a quarter-life crisis.

It could have waited until a more convenient time--say, not minutes away from midnight when he has yet another early morning lecture--but hey, he is admitting that he does indeed have a problem.

There is a quiet, almost inaudible knock on the window and Harry freezes up. He lives on the on the sixth floor on his flat complex so there is no way that that can be human. It's most likely a bird who was stupid enough to fly in to it. And there is no harm is accessing the damage on the window. Theoretically.

Cautiously, with an iron 6 in his hand, Harry walks towards the window. He opens up the drapes and gets ready to bash in the head of any bastard that dared to climb up this high.

"Hiya Harry," Niall chirps, the smirk audible even through the window. "Wanna let me in?"

Harry complies, numb and feeling defeated. Great, fucking brilliant. He watches helplessly as Niall climbs inside, lithe and graceful like a cat.

Niall looks so beautiful that it's heartbreaking and also otherworldly, which is an apt description in more than just one way. The blonde is dressed in a simple black shirt, black trousers, and trainers yet he exudes the arrogance of a proper villain that belongs to Harry's retelling of fairy tales. On the page, flat and one-dimensional and not flesh-and-blood and warm and gorgeous like the creature in front of Harry's own eyes. Niall seems unfazed by Harry's blatant staring, and he steps closer and closer until he is nose-to-nose with Harry.

"You shouldn't be here," Harry manages, tongue finally having gotten unstuck from the roof of his mouth. "Not in my fucking bedroom at some unholy hours of the night and certainly not in the real world."

"Dear, naive little Harold," Niall taunts in that casually cruel but still unfairly alluring voice that Harry has imagined many a time whilst he was writing his fictions. "Ya are smarter than that. You know that magic is more real than people think. Something has brought me out of me own world of ink and page and now I'm breathing in the world you belong in. There's nothing that you can do to stop it, Harry.  _Nothing_

And as if Harry needed a demonstration, Niall's hand starts to trail down the length of Harry's naked torso (the heating in his flat is fucked up at best) and Harry is too acutely awareness of state of dress. He is only wearing his favourite pair of sweatpants, and the thin fabric does little to hide the treacherous reaction that Niall's touch is eliciting in Harry's body. His cheeks heat up and he pretty much yelps as Niall's hand enclosed around his fattening dick. He wants to push the potentially psychopathic bloke away, and scream bloody murder as he jumps out the window but he can't. There is something about Niall that keeps him entranced, rooted to his spot even when Niall's other hand had begun to tug at the waistband of his sweats, gently sliding them off of Harry's bum and then legs.

There's the feline grace again as Niall sinks to the floor, his cold blue eyes never leaving Harry's green ones as he kneels on the floor. Harry must be brain-dead because at first, he doesn't recognise Niall's behaviour. Then it hits him like a tonne of bricks when Niall's tongue flits out and licks at the crease of his thigh and hip, drawing out a choked gasp from Harry.

"Surely you've bedded someone before?' Niall smirks up at him, the corner of his rosy pink lips curled up, not in amusement. No never that. Niall enjoys things, but his attention is as stationary as the storm winds. The Niall that Harry has written countless times is not doing this for Harry, but for his own selfish reasons.

Harry sputters, wanting nothing more than for the ground to come swallow him up this moment. "You know nothing, Niall. You know nothing."

"Bet I know everything I need to know where it matters," Niall winks. He doesn't hesitate before his lowers his mouth, the wet warmth engulfing Harry's entire dick in one smooth go.

It's good, too good. Harry knows that logistically, he should be wanting to kick Niall in the jaw for doing this without his consent. But it feels so heavenly, unlike anything he has ever experienced, which is ridiculous because had been blown before. Just not by Niall.

Niall goes on to play with his balls, quite literally since he is rolling them between his two palms whilst his lips are working over his cock, tongue massaging the sensitive skin right below the glans of his dick and fuck, it'll be over all too soon if Niall doesn't stop this in the next minute or two. And wants to tell Niall that, or tell him to sod off, but all the words get lost in he air that rushes out of him in the whiny moans and loud pants before they make it past his lips. So he lets Niall work his magic, as dark and sinful as it may be. He comes without a warning, and Niall sucks him down greedily, slurping around his softening prick and fingers teasing at his perineum.

It hurts, but it's the type of hurt that makes him want to curl up right into the source of that spikes of pain and nuzzle his head into it. That's pretty much what Harry does, hips bucking away from the touch and into the teasing caresses, his body so muddled and hazy with the recent orgasm and he can't  _think_  through the thick golden and dark clouds of it. Niall hums, slowly coaxing Harry's body into full arousal again and he starts to rain kisses on Harry's face only when his cock is standing at half-mast. He mewls, like he's a fucking kitten or something equally tiny and fluff, as Niall's finger thrusts inside without a warning. Two, he reassesses at the stretch and tingling flames and sparks of electric pain begins to throb between his legs (which are spread open and Harry should feel ashamed at how slutty his body language is but he can't  _think_.

"C'mon, I know ya can take two at a time, someone like you," Niall croons, light and aloof but also snarky as to raise Harry's figurative hackles.

"Nnnghhh," Harry moans out in a form of an answer, and he tries to focus on relaxing his body, so that he can take more of Niall and just let him use his body until he's sore and spent and marked as Niall's.

"There's a lad," Niall praises and Harry all but preens at that. Niall's fingers crook inside of his, rubbing against his sensitised prostate until Harry is blabbering and whining because he  _wants_. All this teasing is infuriating and Harry wants Niall to pull out and slam his dick inside of him and take him over and over again until Harry is a mess of come and sweat and tears.

And precisely what Niall does; his talented finger are soon replaced by his cock and fuck, doesn't even remember being flipped to his stomach, doesn't remember hearing the telltale  _snick_  of the lube bottle cap opening but he really can't be arsed to try when Niall slides inside of him. It's an implosion of sensations, is what it is. Niall doesn't take mercy on him, rather, he fucks him from behind like a dog takes a bitch in heat. And Harry is absolutely loving it all. He had had high standards for his first time, the cliched candles and rose-filled bathtub and everything else that's cheesy. But, fuck, this is worlds better. Niall taking him apart and reducing him to a mess of half-cries and moans and loud panting breaths is far better than he could have fared with someone else. He hadn't known that he'd be like this--submissive and so willing to take a cock up his tight arse. Now that he has been shown what he's been missing, he craves it. He wants to be fucked and used by Niall like a stupid little toy.

It's like Niall can hear his thoughts. Niall picks up the pace, if that were even possible, and proper slams into him, head of his cock catching on the rim of Harry's hole every time he pulls back almost all out and then pushes forward again, right onto his abused prostate. Harry's too close to the edge already despite having come twice already and it could not have been more than ten minutes since he last came. Then again, hours could have gone by without him noticing.

"Gon' come for me like a good little boy?" Niall rasps into Harry's ear, and then kisses the shell in what would come across as a tender gesture on any other people. Niall isn't like any other people, though, and Harry doesn't know what to make of it.

"Yes, yes,  _yesyesyes,_ " Harry chants, air hitching in his throat when Niall's callused fingers wrap around his leaking prick once more. It's pathetic how quickly he comes, at the mere touch of Niall's cold skillful hand on his hot and heavy dick and he shoots off, finally giving into the thrumming beat of heat and hedonistic twinge of pain.

Niall's name comes out of Harry's name in a shout and he feels the sharp bite of Niall's teeth as they clamp around his shoulder, the skin tearing and opening and it open heightens Harry's pleasure for a sick twisted and unknown reason. Niall comes undone as well, the rapid rhythm of his hips never slowing until the very moment that he pulls out abruptly, his face slack and enraptured. Harry collapses onto the bed, not attempting to clean himself up, and he's sure that he falls into grateful sleep soon after

-

Just like any other typical day in London, Harry is awoken by the sound of rain pelting the shitty glass panes of the windows in his bedroom. And unlike his typical morning, there is someone staring at him as his eyes blink open lazily.

A chill runs down Harry's spine, actually making him shudder.

Niall. His pale blond hair is somehow still perfectly sculpted and his glacial-cold blue eyes are slightly narrowed as his eyes track every minuscule movement of Harry's body. He is aware that he is breathing heavily with fear only when Niall reaches out with his hand and Harry flinches back out of sheer survival instincts.

'Are ya really afraid of the dark, a darkness that you have created?" Niall taunts, the light in his eyes subsiding into something decidedly less feral.

"Yes." Harry gulps. He knows what this Niall is capable of: which is pretty much anything that anyone can imagine.

"Shame. I had much more fun things to do planned out, spanning hours and even days but you've now gone and ruined it," Niall pouts like a petulant child, that look more intimidating on him than it should.

"What do you want from me?" Harry inquired, his voice failing him halfway through; the fear soaks into every fibre of his being, filling his every cell and though with dread. He figures that missing a day's worth of lectures can't be that bad, and he's only got two today.

Niall smirks, "I thought you'd never ask.

 

 

-

 

Where Harry is at right now is aces compared to the thousands of lurid and violent imaginations he'd had.

He and Niall are at a fair.

The moment the tickets booth operator wrapped the neon orange wristband around their wrists, Niall went from  _devilishly-handsome-but-psychologically-damaged-beyond-repair_  to  _overly-excited-and-too-energetic-golden-retriever_. It gave Harry a mental whiplash that he could almost feel physically.

The thing is, when Niall isn't being a Siren (but with legs and obviously a very human appearance) and whatever else characters he has been portrayed as in Harry's stories, he seems to have the mentality of a five-year-old. He laughs at small things like the feel of cotton candy melting on the tip of his tongue and staining it blue, the hummingbird that flies over his head, a balloon that has escaped the grasp of a waddling toddler, and the attractions.

It's disconcerting, how adorable Niall is.

He is tugging Harry's hand at the sight of every single attraction and he smiles through the massive queues, asking Harry if he can have more snacks or drinks. Harry ends up buying Niall a refillable souvenir bottle that looks funny and Niall kisses him on the cheek for that, all affection and no seduction. It's all very confusing for Harry to process.

At around thirteen, Niall drags Harry to the concession so that they can get lunch. A distant part of Harry wonders if this counts as a first-date type of lunch but he quickly dismisses that terrifying (and endearing) idea. Niall is a vicious sociopath and for all Harry knows, this could be a divergence tactic.

That doesn't stop him from enjoying this, as reckless as this is.

Harry can't force himself to resist the obvious draw that Niall has, to distance himself from the radiant and buoyant and sparkling aura that Niall exudes. He can't let himself be swept up in the quicksand that will be his ultimate downfall or some melodramatic shite.

But the thing is, Harry's hamartia--if he has one-- is that he loves too easily, cares for people he has just met, and is an all-around genuine guy. He is the epitome of a people person and he loves everything about this other side of Niall.

And the sight of Niall's face covered with the confectioners sugar from the funnel cake that he is currently devouring. Niall flicks his tongue out to catch a crumb on his lip and his eyes are trained onto Harry's as he winks. Harry's mind flashes back to last night and he can feel his cheeks burning up. This is why he can't let his guard down. One moment of weakness and boom, he'll be back under Niall's thumb.

"Want some?" Niall asks, holding out the cake with a believable innocent smile on his face.

"Sure," Harry replies, because Niall  _hates_  taking no for an answer.

The cake is delicious, and Niall ends up eating most of it along with a large size of fries, an enormous burger, and some coke. Harry eventually points out the fact that Niall has some of his lunch left on his face and his answering smirk makes Harry wish that he didn't disclose that information. Niall grabs for Harry's hand and brings it up to his face. "A little help?" he smirks.

Harry obliges, again, trying not to think about the night before.

The contours of Niall's face are highlighted by the sun, and yeah, it is nice that he gets to meet and touch his own creation that should not exist. In some sort of demented way, this is his dream come true, only that this dream that he is living in is closer to a nightmare in the guise of a happy dream. He has to keep reminding himself of that.

Once they are done with lunch and its aftermath, they jet off to the attractions that they haven't been on yet. Niall's facial expressions alternate between genuinely happy smiles to those that are filthy and obnoxiously seductive. Harry catches himself staring at Niall's lips one too many times and each time it happens, Niall just happens to be looking back at him.

Just fuck his life, really. (But he can't, because of the stupid student loans.)

They little outing ends when the sun goes down and the fair shuts down. At that point, the only remaining people are mostly couples, which does nothing to eradicate that sense of dread in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Something that matter, babe?" Niall has the audacity to ask as they walk towards the tube.

"Oh you know, no big deal. I spent a night and day with a psychopath straight out from my own imaginations. Aces, that."

Niall throws his head back, laughing like a little child. Harry is seriously confused and he definitely does not resort to pouting as they walk into the station and go wait for the next available train. Hardly anyone is around and Niall is taking that as his cue to keep on laughing like a maniac.

"Was it something I said? Like the part where I accuse you of being a cold-blooded murderer?" Harry inquires dryly.

"First off, many of the predators in this world are warm-blooded just like you and I, well, I'm a little different but I am pretty sure that I'll bleed just like you."

"Wouldn't be surprised if you didn't bleed," Harry deadpans.

The train comes in just then and Niall waits a beat before he deigns to reply. "The world isn't so black and white, and there hardly is a border between right and wrong. This world that you live in is full of grey areas and everything blurs into one massive mess of human errors. Lovely what a self-proclaimed superior species can do to a planet, innit?"

Harry flinches. He hasn't quite figured out how much Niall knows of this world. Did he pop into existence with a full knowledge of the wonders of the modern world or was he still adapting? What were his ultimate plans?

So many questions, and as luck would have it, Niall holds the answers to all.

Harry waits until he and Niall are back at his flat to start asking questions. Or, at least that was his plan. Now that they are back at Harry's, a switch has gone off inside of Niall and he is back to being the creature of lust. The first thing that he does is pin Harry to a wall and kiss him senseless, hand playing with the hem of Harry's shirt.

It takes all of Harry's strength to shove Niall off of him and glare at him.

"You can't use me like that again. Last night was a mistake," Harry states, hoping that he sounds more determined than he feels.

Niall doesn't look convinced, if that snide smirk on his face is of any indication. "You can't possibly mean that when you're the biggest slut I've had the pleasure of bedding. C'mon, Harry, you loved it last night and you would love a round two or more."

"You're the filthy liar and a rapist, that's what you are!" Harry nearly yells, fighting for calm.

The blonde crowds up against Harry, their lips once again within close vicinity. "Am I? I am but a character that you concocted, Harry. So, technically, whatever I do 'wrong' is on your hands. Quite literally since you're the one that has been writing about me, however dark and twisted."

Harry doesn't want to kiss Niall, or give him the satisfaction of watching his resolve crumble. But Niall is beautiful, is the thing. To the point that it makes Harry's heart ache physically, and he's taken that introductory psychology class so he knows that things that affect his mind can become very much physical. Sod that, really.

"Thinkin' about the offer?" Niall sneers, and there's nothing Harry wants more than to wipe the expression clean off of his face.

"Nope,' Harry tries, knowing that he failed immediately.

"Liar, liar pants on fire," Niall singsongs, one hand sneaking up and cupping the side of Harry's face and preventing him from looking away. Not that Harry could have, not when Niall's face is extremely captivating, especially his cold blue eyes.

"Stop it," Harry all but begs, because the last thing he needs is another mind-blowing sex that will cement his place as the most pathetic bloke on Earth. And craziest because he doubts that the survival rates of people who associate with psychopaths rather intimately are high. Or. . . yeah.

"Scared of a fictional character, are we?" Niall asks, cocking his head to the side like a curious kitten would. Harry curses himself silently for having Niall as this sort of person. Of course he hadn't thought to change it up every once in a while, and write Niall as the nice and innocent victim of some unspeakable crime of the villain in the story. (To be fair, no one thinks about the possibility of their own creation coming to life, Harry adds in his mind.)

"We're no better than animals, really," says the blond idly, inspecting a non-existent dust on his sleeves with his arms outstretched. "Governed by fear, food, and the want to fuck. Basic functions, different results."

The way Niall is looking at Harry at the moment can only be described as  _predatory_. From the narrowed eyes bright with intent and tensed muscles that can propel Niall forwards at a moment's notice, Niall is just gearing up for the pounce and kill. And Harry happens to be the prey in this particular equation.

"Why fuck me?" he blurts out. "London's full of other gorgeous people, chaps and birds. There's no need to stick to just boring old me. Plenty of fish in the fucking sea and all that."

Niall laughs. He actually laughs with his head thrown back (again, like a little kid) and the gesture throws Harry off so much that he lets his guard down long enough for Niall to seemingly appear by his side in a heartbeat. Harry's heart his racing in his ribcage like a cornered wild animal, his eyes wide with fear and ,despite his current situation, anticipation.

There is something severely wrong with him and Harry makes a promise to himself to go visit a doctor as soon as possible.

"What will it be? Fight or fuck?" Niall says in a sotte voce tone that Harry has to strain to hear.

Apparently, Harry's own body is a traitor because his entire body lunges forward so that he can meet Niall's lips. In the process, it makes sense that he also grips the back of Niall's neck tightly as though Niall is a flighty hallucination that will float away from him so readily. Niall indulges him and kisses him back, full tongue and hands roaming everywhere. The kiss heats up quickly and the goings-on only escalate to the point where Harry feels as though he is suffocating in his own skin. He claws at his clothes, impatiently tearing them off of him and helping Niall as well. Niall shrugs out of them easily, his lips somehow never leaving Harry's.

They don't even make it to the bedroom or the couch that is not even five feet away. Niall spits into his hand and shoves a finger inside of Harry, stretching him out hastily. Harry is absolutely loving it, more than he should but he's always had that bit of submissive personality. Like, not necessarily in a sexual way but in the sense that he loves to make other people happy and obey easily.

It's a real problem.

Especially right now when he is pretty much rushing to drop to his knees and mouthing at the crease between Niall's hip and groin. He tastes of skin and a hint a sweat, a common combo for a boy Niall's age and Harry's body is already reacting to it, blood rushing to Harry's cock and he whines softly at the taste. There's a dark chuckle from above and a pair of rough hands that position Harry's lips on Niall's growing erection. Harry opens his mouth eagerly, sucking in the soft hard flesh into his mouth and working the head diligently. He loves the feel and weight of Niall's fattening cock in his mouth, and he wouldn't mind having it elsewhere either.

And again, it's as if Niall can read his mind because he is hauling Harry to his feet and assaulting his mouth with his hot, wet tongue. He loves the burn and stretch as Niall is thrusting inside of him, Harry's hands splayed on the wall and Niall's slightly smaller and a lot paler hands covering them. It's oddly intimate, something that Harry doesn't want, not with Niall. But it's sex and Harry doesn't care that much, not when Niall's dick is driving into his prostate with that perfect pressure and frequency. It's enough to drive Harry crazy and reaching up to grip at his own hair and tugging  _hard_. (On top of a possible psychological disorder, he also has some kinks, how brilliant.)

Harry, predictably, doesn't last long. And like last time, Niall keeps on fucking into him until he himself is done. Harry knows that sensibly, he should be berating himself for barebacking when he barely knows this guy. But he is only a dude and his body is dead set on slipping into a peaceful sleep after this particularly awesome orgasm. His eyes drift shut and the last thing that registers in his mind is something warm and soft wiping down his torso.

 

-

 

The next morning is different. For one, Harry is woken by a loud and obnoxious alarm that nearly deafens Harry. And for another, there's that lovely smell of breakfast wafting from the small kitchenette area. By now, Harry knows that it's Niall in the kitchenette and he can only assume that Niall's flipped the humanity switch again and is attempting to make some breakfast for the both of them.

"Mornin'," he greets, and the sight of him in nothing but a pair of Harry's pants and an apron with abs on it makes Harry want to laugh. "Saw that your class is at eight so thought you'd like some food before goin'."

"That's . . . thoughtful," Harry ventures, eyes flickering from Niall's face to the frying pan from which a bit of smoke is rising. "Ehm, you might wanna tend to that before the alarm goes off."

Niall smiles sheepishly. "Right."

Harry does eat the breakfast that Niall makes for him. It's really good and Niall doesn't stop smiling, even when he is eating his own.

"So, what are you gonna do when I'm at school?" Harry asks when he's done with his breakfast.

Niall shrugs. "Dunno. Explore the city, and try not to kill anyone." The smile he tacks on at the end is too innocent to have been an coincidence. He laughs and adds, "Relax, Harry. I'm not gonna start a killing spree in broad daylight. What kind of practiced serial killer do you take me for? Besides, I'm here for other reasons."

Harry's heart doesn't stop racing and it looks like Niall can tell (probably from his pale face and rigid fingers, Harry can only guess). With a heaving sigh, Niall reaches across to take Harry's hand and place it over his heart. "I won't kill people, Harry," Niall says solemnly, and to his credit, his heartbeat remains steady. Harry makes a mental note that yeah, the writers and producers on  _Teen Wolf_  was right.

"You are so easy to rile up, it's bloody adorable," Niall murmurs, voice low that Harry almost thinks that he wasn't meant to hear it. "Now c'mon; I wanna see your uni and marvel at the things that you don't bother writing into ya stories."

 

-

 

Lunch time comes around again and just like any other week day, Harry finds himself surround by his mates. Louis is making properly pathetic heart eyes at Liam and does that thing where he looks away blushing as though he were electrocuted every time Liam looks in his direction. Perrie and Zayn are all wrapped around each other, Perrie cooing at Zayn to try some disgusting looking low-fat pastry thing and Zayn, bless his gentle soul, eats it without the slightest cringe. Harry is nervous about bringing Niall especially after the first encounter. He'll be morbid if Perrie and Zayn try to persuade Niall into a threesome again and he knows that he can count on Louis to be his usual self (read: slightly manic).

"Oh, Hazza," Perrie starts, and Harry has to dig his nails into his palm so that he won't say anything too stupid. "You never told us that you liked blonds! Wasn't that the reason why you blew off me and Zaynie's offer for a fun little threesome? Not to mention that you missed both your lectures yesterday."

"Actually, I distinctly remember telling you that I'm mostly gay, and it takes a lot for me to even consider kissing a pretty girl," Harry counters, all smiles and joking.

"Eh, well," Perrie cups Zayn's face and caresses the sharp cheek bone with her thumb. "More of this gorgeous male specimen for me." They kiss wetly and Harry is positive that he can hear their lips smack together and ew, they are his childhood friends, for crying out loud.

"Young love," Niall sighs dreamily. "I can't say that I remember being so reckless and foolishly in love."

 _Of course not,_  Harry thinks bitterly.  _All you knew was bloodlust and that urge to destroy and manipulate. You wouldn't exist if you went through the madly in love phase and a heartbreak or two_.

"Better get used to it if you fancy our Harold," Louis chirps, mouth full of chips and fingers stained with salt and some ketchup. "They are practically married and it takes a lot to stomach that level of PDA. Poor Liam was right nauseated when he accidentally walked into their apartment to pick up something."

"Shut up," Liam all but wails. "Still trying to forget that ever happened, fuck you very much."

Louis laughs, kissing Liam on the cheek with a loud wet sound before pulls away.

Louis goes to pat the traumatised lad on the shoulder and Harry doesn't miss that way Louis lingers in close proximity. Niall doesn't either, and he stage-whispers, "Is everyone you know like that? Don't think I can quite handle it."

"I always say that I need a normal group of friends and clearly, I suck at achieving some goals in life," Harry says, and he knows that it's Louis who chucks a half-eaten muffin at him.  Harry picks it off his lap and eats it despite Louis' disgusted face.

"There's a reason why I threw it at you instead of finishing it, you weirdo," Louis says ominously.  Sure enough, Harry can taste the undercooked batter.  

"I think I'm gonna go to my class early," Harry says with a slight frown.  And he shoots Niall a look that hopefully translates as  _get-the-fuck-away-from-my-friends_.  For once in his life, it works and Niall mumbles a half-arsed excuse and gets out of Harry's sight.

 

 

-

 

 

Of course, Harry shouldn't be surprised to find Niall lounging on his sofa after a long day at university.  He must have taken a spare key or something since Harry isn't the type to hide them around his flat.  

"I see that you've made yourself at home already," Harry grumbles, nodding at the bottle of beer clutched in Niall's pale hand.

"Don't have any of this good stuff in your world of concocted words and magic, 'm afraid," Niall replies with a casual shrug of his shoulders.  

"Well too bad for you because I kind of need you to get your arse back there before you cause anymore collateral damage," Harry spits out.

Niall raises an amused brow. "'Collateral damage'?  Harry Styles, are you trying to tell me off?  You brought me into this world with some sort of sorcery so it's upon you to sort this shit out.  All on ya."

The grin on Niall's face is maddening, to put it mildly.  Harry is a patient man at most times and it takes the worst of Louis' antics (or his and Liam's combined mopey pining pizazz) to really piss him off.  This Niall is a special case, alright.

"Cut this shit out and go away.  Don't you have other people to antagonise?" Harry asks futilely, and he knows full well there's just time before he loses it again and do something truly inane like have hot hate sex with Niall again.  Come to think of it, their first time-- _his_  precious first time with anyone ever--was as good as rape.  

"Your mouth keeps moving but your eyes are sayin' somethin' else," Niall sneers, his blue blue eyes narrowing and focusing on Harry's.  He feels a deep blush mottle his cheeks and spread down his entire face and partially down his neck.

"Do what you like, I'm done dealing with you today."  Harry does his best imitation of stomping away, slamming his bedroom door behind him and locking it.  Although, a small part of him is scared that Niall might find a way in.  He keeps all the keys in the back corner of his underwear drawer and there is no way that Niall can get in unless he conjures up a bobby pin or whatever household item that movie characters use to break into places.

It's far too early and sunny to attempt a decent shut-eye time but Harry pulls the covers over his head anyway.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Harry wakes to the unmistakable smell of food and something else.  He is confused for a minute because as far as he knows, he lives alone.  Unless his entire life has been a comedic error and he has woken up to the right version of his life.

The grand dream is shattered in a bit as a loud knock sounds on his bedroom door.

“Go ‘way,” Harry groans, burying his face in the pillow again.  It doesn’t smell wholly of his shampoo anymore, tainted by the smell of whatever Niall uses.  The sentiment makes Harry want to puke and welcome Niall back into his arms at the same time.

“Ya missed like the morning’s lectures already,” Niall kindly informs him. 

“I’ve got friends who’ll lend me the notes and stuff,” Harry shouts unnecessarily.

“Well, I been hearing this incessant noise from one of your devices and I don’t know how to make it stop.  Can ya at least shut it up?”

Harry glares at the door even though there’s no point in it.  He’s not many things and coward is one of those things he isn’t.  So he starts by opening up the drapes and marching into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  His hair looks like he’s been dragged by the teeth to hell and back and he supposes it’s befitting.

“You should definitely fix your hair before you make any public appearances,” Niall snickers.

“You’re the one to talk,” Harry says out of spite.  That’s totally untrue, though.  Niall’s impeccable in looks, not a damn hair out of place and his eyes are bluer than anything he’d seen in the late morning light.  In truth, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Niall do as much as close his eyes for more than a split second.

“Anyway, go tend to that,” Niall complains, motioning broadly at the telephone.  Harry reminds himself that he’s too far behind on bills to afford a landline and that he should cut the service.  His mobile fees are bad enough as it is and his pay check isn’t due for a couple days after the rent is due.  Oh the glamorous life of a uni student.

Harry does just that, but only because the noises are annoying as fuck and he knows that it’s Louis who’s either actually concerned for Harry’s health or moaning about Liam’s six-pack.

“ _Harry you inconsiderate prick!  When you know hot blondies like that, it’s your oath-bound duty to let a best mate know so that I can arrange some orgy!  Seriously, I am disappointed.  Just you wait until I g—“_

Harry deletes the rest of the message.  (He wishes that he’d found a set of normal friends early in his childhood for the thousandth time.)

“Hardly sounds like they’re mad.  Rather, they sound interested in you and I.”

“Shut up.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

The next few days pass like thus, Harry and Niall dancing around each other and Harry doing his best to avoid Niall.  It’s a dance with so many steps to learn and other articulate gestures to master and Harry is mentally exhausted.  It doesn’t help that Harry is a young man with the expected libido and Niall has taken to romping around the flat naked all the time.

So Harry resorts to fleeing to Louis and Liam’s shared flat.  However, it only makes him a bit furious that these two fools were living together and has yet to see that they are arse over tits in love with each other.  Every dinner, when all three of them are dining together, Harry wants to brain himself with the plates or the cutlery because the air is thick with all the pining and both Louis and Liam are too thick to see that.

His next solution is to stay at Nick’s for as much as possible.  Nick is a much older student who is in the middle of his master’s degree.  At first, Harry found it hard to believe that the Manchester native would stick with school long enough for that but one glance at Nick’s personal records page at the school online convinced him.  Nick is a pretentious hipster through and through no matter what, with his obnoxious band t-shirts and skin-tight jeans that rival Harry’s.

“Just fuck him,” Nick says sagely.  He is munching on a two-day old Vietnamese takeaway and Harry cringes internally at the sight.

“If I told you that Niall is the anti-hero from the stories I write, would you believe me?” Harry tries, biting into a banana that is far too green for his liking.

“I’d ask who you’ve been buying weed off of and advise that you stay away from the bloke,” Nick returns without missing a beat.

Harry sighs.  He’s got to tell someone and Nick is the one who is least likely to brush him off or tell the local mental asylum.  “It’s true though.  I dunno if you ever deigned to read my short stories, but all of my protagonists share common traits: blond hair, cold blue eyes, and a smile that can hypnotise the most frigid of hearts.  Niall sort of fits that description perfectly and he’s here.  In my flat, to be exact.”

To his credit, Nick doesn’t do anything cinematically dramatic like spew out the last mouthful of whatever he is eating—some sort of noodles, it appears—and instead merely arches an eyebrow.  “And you’ve come to me with this information, because?”

“Least likely to write me off as a loon,” Harry mumbles into the sofa pillow.

“True.  I value your curls far too much,” Nick says as he ruffles Harry’s hair.  “Although, some of those airheaded models I’ve shagged might tell you otherwise.”

 

So that’s how Harry ends up telling Nick about everything that has happened between him and Niall.  He first intends to leave out the intimate details but Nick proves to be too good of a friend.  Nick makes endless jibes until he _allows_ for Harry to continue along with his not so merry nor little story.

“Let me get this straight then,” Nick comments.  (Harry has to bite his lower lip to point out that Nick has never been straight in anything.  Seriously, Nick is plays dirty in anything that he sets his mind to.)  “You pulled an Inkheart stunt and summoned a hot-arse killer to be your fantasy lover.  By the way, congrats on losing your virginity.  A self-serving psychopath, I would have expected nothing less from you, my dear Haz.”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fact that we have the murderer of the century on our hands?” Harry says sullenly.  Nick has just begun to massage his scalp properly and he rather likes it.  It’s very soothing and for a long moment he does his best not to make purring noises at the gentle ministrations.

Nick, of course, breaks the moment by saying: “Think he’s up for a threesome?”

Harry tilts his just enough to shoot death glares at the other man but not so much that Nick can’t keep massaging his scalp.  “I do not wanna see your dick again.  We were both so high that night and I had to suffer through you shagging some random.”

Nick shrugs, true to his personality.  “Or a good old-fashioned sex between the two of us works fine.  Unless his specific mission in our sad overpopulated world is to fuck you to death and back.  Speaking of, Louis needs to lay off drunk calling me and bitching about Liam’s backside.  That was more than I ever needed to know and he should really learn this simple concept called knocking.  Save all of us from further trouble.”

Harry sighs.  He drives his bony knee into Nick’s lap and smirks at the following yelp.

“You’ve made me spill Vietnamese barbeque sauce on my sofa,” he pouts.

“The very same sofa that I helped you pick out of Asda.  How stingy of you,” Harry retorts.

“That’s it, out with you.  I know that my minor was in psychology but I refuse to play shrink to your not-so-PTSD state.  If anything, you are a horny git who needs to get his prick sucked off before you die of blue balls—which by the way, is a false belief because there ain’t no ‘blue balls’, medically speaking.”

Harry sits up straight.  “Always the voice of reason.”  For that reason alone, he makes the kiss on Nick’s cheek extra slobbery.  Nick feigns disgust and retaliates by messing up Harry’s hair even more.  Not that Harry minds now that he scarcely remember the last time he’s got a haircut.  Those head scarfs are pretty handy.

“Bye Nicholas,” Harry says to spite him.

“Bye Harold.  Have fun and remember that safe sex is good sex!”

He needs to invest in new friends.  Truly.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

He comes home to a spotless living room and the smell of slightly burnt parmesan chicken from the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh, I was hoping that you’d show up,” Niall exclaims, smiling brightly.  “I used that internet thing you taught me and looked up some recipes.  There’s also some salad in the fridge to keep cool.”

“That’s brill,” Harry says, a bit stunned.  Could this be a part of Niall’s ploy?

“You’ve been avoiding, I know that much.  So I thought it’d be fun for us both if we had a civil dinner together and learnt more about each other.  I’m not all you made me out to be, y’know.”

“Okay.”

To be honest, talking to Niall isn’t all that horrible.  Niall can be friendly when he desires and he is charming the socks off Harry’s feet with the surprisingly well-made dinner and the bottle of wine he’s found in the back of Harry’s pantry. (He doesn’t remember putting it there, to be honest.)

“Tell me about yourself, Harry,” Niall prompts.

Harry gulps. “I’m twenty, getting a degree in creative writing and minor in something like folkloric studies.  I write short stories loosely based on the classic fairy tales except mine are darker and crueller than the original versions.  My mum, sister and step-dad live in Cheshire and that’s pretty much it.  You’ve met the lunatics that I call my friends already so yeah.”

Niall’s eyes twinkle with something.  “There’s gotta be more to you than that.  Like, favourite colour, favourite song, where you wanna travel to, loads more.”

“I wanna go to Croatia and Malta, to see where they shot _Game of Thrones_ ,” Harry answers honestly.  One of his mates Michael is a big dork who’s read all six books (“ _There’s one more left and I can’t wait!”_ ) and is devoted to the telly adaptation as well.  Harry somehow got hooked on the show as well and he is definitely Team Daenerys.

“That’s a telly thing, aye?” Niall asks and Harry nods.  “Cool.  Your world has far more amusing things mine.  The best amusement we have is executions or some royal shite and both are rare.”

“Maybe in the next story, I’ll write something more modernized,” Harry offers.

“That would be nice.  And you cock in my mouth would also be nice,” Niall says in one breath.

Harry gawps like a fish out of water because honestly, he had thought that they were making progress.  But no, Niall is good for two things and currently, he is more focused on the carnal stuff.

With Harry’s luck, he should have expected that.

“I’m not a fuck toy you can use whenever,” Harry manages to say in a firm tone.

What’s also firm is Niall’s grip around his dick, even through the multiple layers. The gasp that comes out is understandable but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate himself for it.  Niall smiles like he’s the hyena eyeing up its next meal.  Given the circumstances, that’s pretty accurate.

“You were sayin’?” Niall asks, and Harry has to think of vaginas to will his erection away.  Sadly, Niall is doing something wicked with his fingers and all his blood keeps going south.

“Fuck you,” Harry spits out.

“Gladly,” Niall whispers in Harry’s ear like it’s a secret only to condemn Harry with more arousal and hatred.

Harry doesn’t remember one of Niall’s talents being agility but damn, Niall is fast.  He is on the sofa—which is only five feet or so away from the kitchen table but still—and Niall is more or less naked.  Harry is too aware of the fact and his selfish eyes rake over Niall’s chest and hips.  Niall looks so sexy like that, a light dusting of hairs below his navel that goes to cover his crotch.  From underneath his lashes, Niall looks into Harry’s eyes and takes off his clothes for him.

Once they are both starkers, he can’t help but appreciate the difference in their skin tones.  Harry isn’t the most tanned person in the world but next to Niall’s creamy pale complexion, he feels as though he’s spent the last two weeks tanning in the southern regions of France.

“You can’t do this,” Harry says futilely, his tongue already seeking Niall’s.

“Mmhmm,” Niall hums, and Harry can’t find the strength to shoot back a snarky or sassy remark when Niall’s fingers tangle in his hair and the other set wrap around his hard cock. “Human bodies are so deceptive, so easily manipulated.”

_What does that make you then?_

And everything blacks out.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Harry opens his eyes, gasping for breath and utterly confused and feeling so weak. The air smells different, so wrong and sterile. His vision comes into focus and he realises that he is surrounded by bleak pale grey walls. And that he is hooked up to a million different machines.

"Patient has regained consciousness," a female voice says, no emotion whatsoever inflicted in her tone. "ECG patterns have returned to normal and patient's seems to be respondent to his surroundings. Pupil dilation is normal and he seems to be experiencing the effects of a mild case of dehydration."

Harry's eyes narrow in on the woman's hand, where he sees a small voice recorder along with a couple different hypodermic needles. She is wearing normal clothes, a white smock-top and jade trousers, but there is a name tag on her chest as well as a stethoscope hanging from her pale neck. Her brown blue eyes are sad and sympathetic, but overridden by surgical coldness.

"Where am I?" he asks, now officially confused and is fearing for his sanity. He was fucking dying in the hands of his lover merely seconds ago, how can he be in a hospital already? He supposes that it is probably if someone had found his dying body and called for the A&E and Niall has been arrested and put to jail. Or Niall could have disappeared, who knows.

"That is the first time that you have asked that very question in seven months," the doctor--Dr Argent, according to her name tag--answers, a small smile gracing her delicate features. Her expression has softened into something softer, something more believable and real. "You're in the Eichen House, located in California. We are a facility for those who are, shall we say, psychologically challenged."

"Why the fuck am I in America?? Why am I not back home in London? I'm majoring in creative writing, I don't have time to be locked up at a loony bin!" he shouts, hands shaking with sudden and uncontrollable anger. The anger, no fury, he feels is physical, the sound of his blood rushing drowning out all the other sounds in the room and he swears that his vision is actually clouding over with a faint red tinge.

“Patient is getting angry.  Administering sedatives,” Argent notes.  True to her words, Harry feels sleepy all of a sudden, lethargic really.  His eyelids are drooping and he struggles to maintain his glare at the doctor.

“You’re not well, Mr Styles,” Argent says.  “You have schizophrenia, a severe case indeed.  You have been hallucinating about this boy named Niall and all your friends have been concerned about you.  Ever since you dropped out of university and found in your flat alone with pieces of a dead body, they knew that something had to be done.  They knew that the familiarity of your home could be triggering so they searched abroad for a place for you to stay at.  Now Eichen House is your home for the time being and you haven’t been his coherent in seven months.”

Harry blinks slowly, trying to digest all the information.  “But I felt him.  Niall.  He was with me for a several days and we. . . .”

“Tactile hallucinations can occur for those who are more affected.  Your brain scan hardly shows any grey matter and the neurotransmitter levels in your nervous system are carefully monitored and often regulated via medications.  This is hardly the life a young man your age should live but I’m afraid there is no other way.”

“Bollocks,” Harry spits out.  The doctor merely raises an eyebrow at his outburst.

From the corner of his eye, he sees the silhouette of a boy.  Hair the colour of sunshine at the tips and eyes cold and blue.

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” Niall whispers, and winks.

He disappears.

“—Harry?  Are you seeing Niall right now?” Harry hears Argent ask him and he has to mentally shake himself.

“No,” he lies. Thankfully, the ECG doesn’t pick up on it.

Niall pops back into existence.  Harry answers all the questions he is asked and the entire time, his eyes keep darting towards the blonde’s smug smile.

When the wretched doctor finally leaves Niall comes closer to him.

“G-go away,” Harry scrambles backwards, only to be caught by the metal headboard of the bed.

“I’m only a part of your imaginations, eh?” Niall smirks.  One of his hands grips the inside of Harry’s thigh, thumb stroking patterns on the clothed but nonetheless sensitive area.  “A hallucination can’t do this, now can it?”  His voice is dangerously low and seductive, and Harry can’t force himself to look away from the tantalising blue eyes.

“We’ll always be together, Harry,” Niall says definitively.  “Forever.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did a whole research project on schizophrenia so yeah, I thought I knew a thing or two about it.
> 
> Edit Oct 2015: just read a Reddit thread where someone with schizophrenia talks about their experience and I'm so glad that my theories-only characterisation of the condition wasn't half-bad. You have no idea how nervouse I was reading the thread.


End file.
